The Price of Power

Training pressed on relentlessly, and thanks to the captain’s suggestion that I share her room, Sane’s nighttime assaults came to an abrupt halt. For reasons I couldn’t fully grasp, he only struck under the shroud of darkness, his fury reserved for those vulnerable hours. With me safely out of reach, an uneasy peace settled over the barracks. Over the next few days, I began to see the captain’s iron resolve in a new light—she was determined to forge us into something stronger, no matter the cost to herself.

My senses, heightened by the serum coursing through my veins, had unlocked corners of my mind I never knew existed. I could detect which hormones were on spike and I unintentionally tracked her cycle. And she was experiencing bad crumps.

She buried the pain beneath a warrior’s mask, leading every drill across the training grounds—the earth scarred and muddy from endless marches, the air heavy with the tang of sweat and clashing steel. I caught her wincing mid-step during a sparring session, her face paling as she drove her blade forward, her stamina a marvel even as her body screamed for reprieve.

That night, as I lay restless on my cot, her condition unraveled. She began to sweat profusely, her skin glistening and clammy under the flickering barracks lamp. A fever seized her, fierce and sudden. I rose, soaking a towel in cold water to ease her burning forehead, but as I neared, vivid memories of our awkward bathroom encounter surged unbidden—her startled eyes, the heat of my embarrassment. My hand faltered, and I turned instead to Yukio for help.

He didn’t hesitate, rushing to her side with a quiet intensity.

“She’s been pushing herself too far,” I said, “She’s our captain, but she’s not invincible. And she’s a woman, Why does she try to match the men?” I blurted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

Yukio’s head whipped toward me, his eyes ablaze. “Because she’s a warrior!” he snapped. “In the art of the sword, we speak with our blades, not our bodies.” His rebuke cut deep, a defense of her honor I hadn’t anticipated.

“Biologically, it’s illogical,” I countered weakly, but the fire in his glare silenced me. I’d misspoken, and the weight of it sank in—he thought I’d insulted her, diminished her strength. Shame crept over me, and I slipped outside, leaving him to tend to her through the night. His silhouette flickered against the lamplight as he stayed by her side.

By morning, her fever broke, and she rose, her strength renewed. I resolved to keep my distance, focusing solely on my training and leaving her struggles to her own fierce will.

Days later, Number One completed his final adjustments to the serum, blending the last vial with excipients to produce over a hundred doses. The general summoned all captains and scientists tied to the superhuman planetary defense project for a critical briefing. I was included, though I felt like an outsider among the military brass and brilliant minds.

Dr. Ernest, ever the thorn in the general’s side, cornered him with his relentless theories. “General, the robot’s story doesn’t add up. Those elements in the serum—none match our periodic table. And Silver’s gateway? Trans-dimensional synchronization that precise couldn’t be accidental. A misstep would’ve shredded them!”

“What’s your point, Ernest?” the general barked, his patience fraying.

“What if the aliens killed Fredrick and sent that robot to sabotage us? Rebirth planet, sentient life—it could be a trap!”

“Our best hackers scoured its drives,” the general shot back. “The story holds, and its tech is human-made.”

Ernest leaned closer, his voice a conspiratorial hiss. “What if they missed something? What if Fredrick was brainwashed to craft a weapon against us?”

The general’s eyes narrowed. “You’re here to inspire the young minds who do the real work. Go play smart in your lab coat and let me handle this.”

Humiliated, Ernest slunk away, and the general turned to us. “The president’s given the green light for injections. We don’t know when the Vodocks will strike, and time’s a luxury we can’t afford.”

Number One briefed us on the Vodocks—their biology, defenses, and brutal combat tactics—his voice a steady drone of facts that sharpened the room’s tension.

The moment of truth arrived. General Flick ordered Unit Three, one of his elite special forces teams, to receive the first injections. Dr. Ernest made a final stand. “General, you’re breaking protocol! A robot warps space to hand us a miracle drug, and we just swallow it? As head researcher, I’m telling you—we need more time. This could be a tactic to cripple our soldiers!”

“You’re wasting my time, Ernest,” the general growled. “Stick to your role, or you’re out.”

Silenced, Ernest stepped back, and Unit Three assembled. The general called for a volunteer, and Gwendowson Pott, a fresh recruit, stepped forward.

“Who’s this?” the general asked, squinting.

“Gwendowson Pott, sir!” the unit captain replied.

“Proceed, Number One,” the general commanded.

The injection pierced Gwendowson’s arm. Minutes later, his screams shattered the sterile silence of the lab, his body convulsing on the table. The air grew thick with unease as soldiers muttered nervously, relieved they hadn’t volunteered. The lights flickered, casting jagged shadows across their tense faces.

“What’s happening?” the general demanded.

“His cells are fusing with the compound,” Number One said calmly. “It’ll stabilize soon.”

We watched, breathless, as Gwendowson’s screams faded to ragged gasps. He opened his eyes—crimson, glowing with an unnatural intensity.

“How do you feel, soldier?” the general asked.

Gwendowson grinned, a chilling edge to his voice. “I’ve never felt so alive.”

“Describe it. Powerful?” The general signaled for a steel rod to test his strength.

The unit captain approached, rod in hand, but as he met Gwendowson’s gaze, a wave of raw power pulsed through the room. Fear flashed across the captain’s face—he turned to flee, but Gwendowson lunged, seizing his neck and hoisting him aloft with one hand.

“Look at you,” Gwendowson sneered. “Not so strong now, are you?”

“Soldier!” the general roared. “Put him down! That’s an order!”

Gwendowson’s smile widened, unhinged. With a sickening crack, he tore the captain in half, blood and gore splattering the floor. Chaos erupted—screams, shouts, the clatter of overturned equipment—as the horror of what we’d unleashed sank in.